


in memoriam

by Emeka



Category: Original Work
Genre: Animal Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 16:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16769218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: to the world's best girl-- i miss you





	in memoriam

a ghost haunts the corners of his mind

it whispers on the back of his neck while he's at the computer, strokes his back when he's rinsing his hair and soap bubbles pour in his eyes

sometimes he sees it in at the edge of his field of vision

attractive and transparent, always watching until then

shyly vanishing

but it has always been with him

he hears it in his dreams every night, speaking in his ear

will you love me? will you let me have you?

will you let me take over?

will you?

he does not answer because he does not know how. all he hears is a voice like his own, running like a narration over him getting lost walking home, his family becoming strangers, the first day of school in his underwear

will you let me?

he has nothing but his cat. family estranged, friends out of contact. he has been distracting himself with one thing after another because otherwise he would be faced with the emptiness of his life. one book series after another, one movie after another, pick up and leave hobbies as soon as he learns of them

any way to avoid looking at his aspirin too long

his sweetling, a matronly calico that he has owned since their mutual kittenhood, is his anchor

i will live for her. i will endure for her. to spare her the pain of his loss, the pain of being unable to understand why or how, a new home, new owners who wouldn't let her on the windowseat, who might have horrible little brats

feel her curl up on his pillow against his face, breathe with her, stroke her orange stripes

she starts peeing around the house. the wet rags he scrubs at the spots with come away pink.

please no. he prays it will all be better. not just for his sake, but his finances, as selfish and cowardly as that feels to worry about. he has barely enough money to pay his bills. thoughts of bringing her to the vet, the awkward 'i can't pay that' conversation with the bill, faced with being unable to help her, drums into his head every night as he stares at his ceiling.

(will you? will you? will you?)

it doesn't get better. she loses weight, and hides behind the furniture. she doesn't sleep on his pillow any more

she's suffering. he's useless. the consultation he took her to suggested bladder cancer, then euthanasia due to her eighteen years.

after his paycheck, he decides. with everything she's given him, he owes her at least a painless death

but one day he comes home after work, and does not find her in her windowseat, nor behind the furniture, or any other nook of the house

there is only the old doggie door. sometimes he took her out on her harness to stroll and eat grass, but she had never used it on her own

maybe she's hiding somewhere especially secretive. maybe. he tries to hope so, but doesn't think so.

he lays in bed that night, thinking of all the love he should have given her more of. more of her treats, more of her favorite wet food. the weight of her on his chest and her cobby head beneath his palm is memorized into his body. her snoring.

that she saved him the choice of putting her down occurs to him, almost incidentally. really he knows it was instinct, to be safe and hidden from any and everything. even him.

in the morning light he searches under his porch and talks to the neighbors about theirs. he hopes she died last night. nature isn't kind or quick, but he hopes it was for her. he can't bear thinking of her cold and alone, hungry, in pain.

he skips dinner. he isn't hungry.

the ghost is always in his head now. for the next week he hears it living inside him, setting up house. getting cozy. distracting himself doesn't seem worth it. it's too much effort. looking at his hobby horses, the notebooks and needles, the oil paints and scrapbooks, just gives him a migraine.

he stops going to work. after the first day he can't bring himself to call in sick. he unplugs his phone so he doesn't have to hear the angry messages. fortunately he doesn't have a cell.

(will you let me?)

he hears it in his nightmares. she's suffering and he's crying as he tries to strangle her so he can put her out of her misery. but his grip can never tighten enough, and she meows and meows until she's shrieking

he jolts awake, sobbing and drooling all over himself, and thinks yes, yes

aspirin tablets are counted out on his counter one by one. his hands tremble so hard it's hard to pick them out. one two four and more. it's strange, because mentally he feels numb now.

it will probably be slow and painful. but maybe he deserves that. will his own animal instinct kick in to save himself? probably. the desire for death is a strange and inactive one; he does not precisely think 'i want to die' but 'dying is all i can do'. 

this pain is killing him by itself. 

time to euthanize.

**Author's Note:**

> We mourn the loss of our little pet,  
>  And sigh o'er her hapless fate,  
>  For never more by the fire she'll sit,  
>  Nor play by the old green gate.
> 
> The little grave where her infant sleeps  
>  Is 'neath the chestnut tree.  
>  But o'er her grave we may not weep,  
>  We know not where it may be.
> 
> Her empty bed, her idle ball,  
>  Will never see her more;  
>  No gentle tap, no loving purr  
>  Is heard at the parlor door.
> 
> Another cat comes after her mice,  
>  A cat with a dirty face,  
>  But she does not hunt as our darling did,  
>  Nor play with her airy grace.
> 
> Her stealthy paws tread the very hall  
>  Where Snowball used to play,  
>  But she only spits at the dogs our pet  
>  So gallantly drove away.
> 
> She is useful and mild, and does her best,  
>  But she is not fair to see,  
>  And we cannot give her your place dear,  
>  Nor worship her as we worship thee.  
> \--Little Women, Louisa May Alcott


End file.
